Dishonest Don
by CILLI
Summary: Scott suspects Stiles of dirty dealings, hiding secrets, and possibly worse. Little does he know what he'll walk in to find his friend really doing and who with. Seriously, it's too funny, and a request from a friend, I had tons of fun writing it.


Turning back toward his friend, the wolf watched as the boy spoke to the Alpha, the two standing oddly close to one another. Maybe he was just seeing things, too wired from the fight they'd just narrowly escaped from. That was probably it, just seeing things.

Continuing on the way he'd been headed, Scott let his thoughts drift toward Allison, which they usually did. He was lonely without her, and lately Stiles had been making himself sparse, leaving the wolf to feel even more alone. Isaac was there to keep him company some days, but it wasn't the same, he wanted his best friend, he needed him now more than ever.

What was it he'd said? You still have me, that's right. Well it didn't feel like he still had him, not one bit, and that was the most upsetting part about it. Stiles had promised to always be there, like they always had been for each other; through Stiles' mom dying, Scott's dad leaving, and when he'd turned into a werewolf. Without his best friend he was sunk, or would have been, so he had grown slightly worried as of late, with his friend's inconstancy.

It wasn't like they weren't entitled to have their own lives, but something felt off about the whole situation; it was strange seeing Stiles talking alone with Derek. They'd been talking quite a lot, actually, and only now, as he walked alone, did it dawn on Scott how common an occurrence it had become.

The other day at practice, he saw Stiles run off the field suddenly, only to see Derek waiting by the edge of the woods. Had it been important, he thought the Alpha would have called to him, but instead he'd waited to be noticed, and by Stiles, it was strange.

When he'd asked about it after practice, Stiles had said he'd mentioned something about talking later. Shrugging it off, Scott believed him, since the two hadn't spoken long at all, not even long enough for him to eavesdrop. It was easy to ignore and forget about it then, but that wasn't the only time.

Recalling an instance the other night when they'd actually had a moment to just be normal teenagers, the two had gone to see a movie. Before it had started, as they were walking into the theater, Stiles had shoved his drink and popcorn at Scott and told him he'd be right back, had to use the bathroom suddenly. That too had been easy to dismiss, especially with how into movies the boy got; he'd complain all night if he had to miss any part for an emergency bladder evacuation.

But as he stood there, about to turn into the theater, he'd sworn he'd seen a figure down the hall move around the corner, as if hiding, but watched as Stiles ducked into the bathroom quickly. Probably nothing, his imagination or paranoia getting the better of him. He hadn't thought to really try and sense anything, wanting to pretend for one night he was just a normal kid again.

Then there were the texts, ones Stiles almost conspicuously had claimed were from Lydia. One instance in particular seemed rather suspicious, now that he thought about it. She and Jackson had been away for a weekend together, yet there she was, texting Stiles; he must have gotten four that night, all of them almost in a row.

Was that it? Was Derek threatening him or calling him out on messing with the girlfriend of one of his Betas? Scott knew better than anyone the torch his friend had bore for the girl, and how he'd claimed he never give up on trying to get her.

He'd thought it was just idle talk, foolish hope and confidence, not something he'd actually do. Was he having an affair with Lydia? No, that couldn't be it, could it? Stiles was a good kid, he had a bit of a mouth and didn't know when to shut up sometimes, but he wasn't like that. He wouldn't share her with someone else, he loved Lydia too much to be the other guy and play second fiddle to anyone. Unless maybe he'd gotten that desperate he'd take all he could. No, couldn't be, he'd never settle.

God, he hated even thinking this way about his best friend. But what else could it be? And why were he and Derek-

Turning back to look at his friend once more, Scott saw him not more than a step behind him, panting slightly as he'd jogged to catch up to him. The smirk on his face was confusing, as if nothing had happened, which upset Scott even more.

Aware he wasn't the brightest when it came to most things, and not nearly as apt at reading others like his best friend was, Scott at least knew something was going on, and he wanted to know. The burning question inside him rose as Stiles clapped him on the back and asked him what was up, as if trying to read the werewolf right back.

"So what was that about?" Just come out and say it, that was all he could do at that point. The worst that could happen would be that Stiles would lie, which would just throw him over the edge.

"Hm? Oh, nothing. He just wanted to know what I knew about witches."

"Witches?" The hell did witches have to do with anything? "What did you say?" his tone remained casual, though his temper was rising, his anchor slipping, and could tell his eyes had begun glowing yellow. Turning his glance away as he clenched his fists as they walked, Scott did his best to remain calm and listen to Stiles' explanation.

"Told him to watch Harry Potter, I'm not a walking search engine. But I guess I'll look stuff up once I get home..."

The boy continued talking as Scott let images of Allison pass through his mind, trying to calm himself down. Stiles really gave no reason in his tone or anything for him to suspect him, but he'd gotten himself so worked up, he was finding it difficult to focus his thoughts.

"Look, I'm gonna head home. You... okay?" Catching a glimpse of the werewolf's hands, Stiles wondered if something he'd said along their walk had upset him, though he couldn't imagine anything would have.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," Scott replied in a slight growl.

"Is it-" he didn't dare say her name or else risk upsetting his friend more, but the other boy understood and merely nodded. "Right. Well don't let it get to you. Just... Call me in the morning when you're ready for me to pick you up."

Nodding once more, Scott parted with his friend, walking the long way home by himself. Not that it was that long a walk, but the anger inside him made it last forever. He found it impossible to do more than skulk the entire way, which left him dragging his feet.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Stiles, he did, entirely, with his life even. Secrets, that's what bothered him, feeling like people weren't telling him something he should probably know, especially when it seemed like they were hiding something and none too well either.

Everything was probably in his head, and that was the thought he held onto as he laid himself down in bed, trying to calm himself enough to fall asleep. He was restless and plagued with thoughts of deception and nightmares of Allison, and did little actual sleeping all night, waking throughout, but he managed to get a couple hours in.

Come morning, Scott dragged himself out of bed and sent Stiles a text. Dragging himself into the shower, he emerged twenty minutes later, and quickly looked at his phone, worried he'd spent too long waking himself up with the cool water he'd run.

Nothing, no text, no missed call, nothing. That was strange. Only a bit concerned, Scott sent Stiles another text, hoping maybe the first one hadn't sent. Leaving the phone behind as he grabbed his breakfast, Scott ate his cereal quickly, before returning to his room to check on his texts.

Again, nothing. What was going on? He'd been gone maybe ten minutes and in that time there was no response, no sign of life. Maybe something had happened to him on the way home, maybe something had attacked him while walking alone.

"Jesus!" His worry mounted as he thought over every possibility he could imagine, the guilt rising that he had left him and hadn't been there to protect him. But he reminded himself that his friend could have simply overslept, lord knew he wished he had too.

"Let that be it," Scott breathed as he rushed out of his door, letting it slam behind him. He sprinted to the Stilinski house, hoping to find his friend there, still in bed, safe. That was what he hoped for, what he feared he wouldn't see, but ran as fast as he could to prove his doubt wrong.

Coming up to the house, Scott saw Stiles' window open and figured he still had to be home, there was no way his father would let him hear the end of it if he left the house with it open. But then he caught sight of the door, sitting ajar, and instantly his fear kicked right back in.

Afraid someone had broken in, Scott hurried to the door, but entered slowly, keeping as quiet as he possibly could. Stalking through the house silently, each foot landing as softly as he could manage, he began climbing the stairs, listening to the groans of the house carefully. He was ready for anything, prepared to fight whatever might still be in the house with him, hopefully rescue his friend rather than find him dead.

Creeping up the first stair, Scott stopped dead when he heard a crash come from above. He hesitated a moment, frozen in place, waiting to hear grumbling or a cry of pain, but what he heard was much more. A scream filled the air, one he knew definitely came from Stiles, and instantly he shot up the stairs, no longer concerned with being quiet.

Storming into the room through the shut door, Scott barreled in, only to be met with a sight that could not be unseen. Flesh, miles of it, all wet and grinding up against each other, slapping and- "OH GOD!"

Swinging himself out of Stiles' room, the knob of the door still in hand, Scott stood with the door still slightly open, before hearing a moan come from inside. With a shudder he quickly slammed the door behind him and took to the stairs once more, this time descending them quicker than he'd climbed them.

Stunned and in a state of shock, Scott sat himself down on the porch, looking out into space as he heard the moans travel through the open window and throughout the neighborhood. Thankfully everyone was likely at work or too busy doing things to hear the sex going on upstairs, because the sound could wake the dead. It shook him though, leaving him dizzy, spinning his head like a top.

Every instance he'd been questioning earlier seemed so, well, stupid now. It was so plain to see, now that he understood. The time on the field, Stiles hadn't wanted Scott to hear them and Derek had been there to watch him. Then the theater, oh god, the theater. Jesus, had they done it in the bathroom? He didn't want to think about it.

The texts though, those made the most sense, even the name of the sender he'd lied about; Derek was Stiles' new Lydia. In a way it was kind of funny, and the more he thought about it, the more it almost seemed sweet. The big bad wolf didn't want anyone else knowing he'd had his house blown down by a smart mouthed human, let alone one he was supposed to have hated.

This was all too strange, way too weird for his liking, but it kept coming back to this place, which seemed fitting. Who would have thought it though? Stiles and Derek. But whatever.

He waited for the sounds to die down, which didn't take very long to end, and watched as he heard Derek climb out the window. The two shared a very awkward glance, to which Derek merely ran away, off into the woods, never a man of words. Scott was thankful for that, the last thing he wanted was to talk to Derek about what he'd just seen and heard.

Staying put on the porch, he waited for Stiles to come out, only feeling his phone vibrate with a text. Looking at the screen, he read it quickly.

"Sorry, overslept. Still need a ride?"

"I'm outside." He replied simply, hearing Stiles stop on the other side of the door as he read it. There was silence for a moment, which he knew was probably the boy peering out the window to look for the wolf. Turning slightly, Scott gave a wave, and heard Stiles shuffle swiftly out of sight. So graceful.

Coming out with a crimson blush upon his face, which Scott hoped was simply embarrassment and nothing to do with what he'd seen, Stiles looked at his friend and instantly dropped his eyes to the ground. "Sorry," was all he could manage, nothing more, no more lies, no explanations; the wolf was out of the bag, in a manner of speaking.

"It's alright," Scott sighed as he rose from his spot to face his friend. "I was more upset that you'd been keeping a secret from me. It was getting obvious, and yeah, it pissed me off. But this? Why didn't you just tell me?"

Dropping his mouth open a moment, unsure of what to say or how to say it, Stiles huffed, flustered and caught on his words. Throwing a frustrated hand up, he scoffed and shook his head at himself, having nothing to say for a moment other than make a few ridiculous noises.

"I didn't think you'd understand."

"You didn't give me a chance," which, in all fairness, he hadn't.

"That's true, and I'm sorry. But I mean... I didn't even know what this was until last night."

"What happened last night?"

There Stiles stopped once more, blushing yet again, his eyes and head both dropping this time. He scuffed the toe of his Converse on the porch awkwardly, almost embarrassed to say. "Derek told me-" and he mumbled the rest, enough not even Scott -with his werewolf hearing- could understand.

"He told you what?"

With a huff, Stiles shot his eyes to Scott's and belted out, "That he loved me. There. I said it."

Surprisingly, a smirk formed on Scott's lips, spreading ever wider the longer they stood there looking at one another. "Well..."

"Well what?"

"Well what did you say?"

Frustrated that he had to give a play-by-play when he'd only just learned his friend had found out his secret, Stiles threw up both arms and let them fall to his sides with a resounding clack. "I told him to meet me at my house, okay?"

"You didn't say anything other than that?"

"Scott, come on," Stiles begged, as if his friend's questions were causing him physical pain.

"No, come on. Answer my question. You owe me that much. What did you say to him?"

A roll of his eyes, Stiles caved, groaning as he told his friend everything. "I told him I loved him too. Told him to meet me at my house, I'd walk with you half way, and then we could... Spend the night together."

"So you-"

"Not until this morning. He was sore and still healing from the fight- OH MY GOD! Why am I telling you this!?" Hands thrown to the top of his head, Stiles stood staring at Scott, wondering when he'd lost his mind to just spill everything like this.

"Because I'm your best friend," Scott chimed with a reassuring smile. "It's okay, Stiles, you can tell me. Forget first period, let's just talk. It feels like forever since we've really done that."

Complying with the wolf's request, Stiles sat, dropping his things behind him, and situated himself beside his friend.

"Alright, tell me everything."

And he did, in detail, though none too vivid, to spare Scott the imagery. He told him about every time they'd seen each other in secret, the first instance it had all began, their first kiss and a few after that, and all the stolen moments they'd had behind his back. He confessed to the texts never being from Lydia, save for one, which she had sent when her and Jackson were away.

After everything was out in the open, Scott sat there nodding, a subtle smirk on his face. Begging for some viable reaction from his friend, Stiles grilled him, his eyes nearly burning a hole through his face. Looking over to him, his smirk growing, Scott found the only thing left to say and let it out with ease.

"So when's the wedding?"

"OH MY GOD!"


End file.
